This is for you, with your intricate pinions
Your soulful intensity, walls, and intentions
This, my dear friend, is a poem that's true
This is my poem for you
This is the scent left behind on a pillow
So soft and so faint and so delicately mellow
This is the touch that still burns on the skin
This is desire worn thin
This is the clock, our old hollow enemy
Endlessly ticking and marching relentlessly
Posture like lovers, loving like friends
This is how time makes amends
This is a song, and then two, and then three
All of them sharing the same melody
Playing on repeat, and playing for two
While tangled, I lay against you
This is the clock again, far past its prime
Telling once more of the passing of time
Whispering to us that years have gone by
While seconds are felt in your eye
This is our twining, our trust, and our dreaming
Our careless caresses and languid mute scheming
This, my dear friend, is a poem that's true
And this is my poem for you
